Humble Beginnings
by Catalina Fioght and Company
Summary: By a series of unfortunate coincidences involving a DVD and a device made to warp the fabric of reality, two sisters are stuck with babysitting toddleramafied versions of Erik, Christine, Raoul and Carlotta. Mayhem, of course, ensues. R&R!
1. Prologue

I'm Catty, and welcome to my first ever phanfiction. This is Rayla--

_Hi there! (waves) You brought cookies, right_?

Yes, Rayla, they brought cookies. Rayla is one of my main muses, and one of the main characters in this story--the hyper Phanatic main character...

Ahem.

Oh, right. (points to Azzie) That's my other main muse, Miazma--but everyone around here calls her 'Azzie', lest they be subjected to a rather painful death. Especially if she's deprived of coffee. She is the other main character, the hyper Phanatic's sarcastic inventress older sister.

Better believe it, kid. I'm also the only sane person here...

_Loathing PotO does not make you sane!_

Shut up.

Somebody needs a nappy...

Catty, I do NOT need a nappy!

Temper, temper. And just so the lawsuit gods don't come after me, I **don't** own _Phantom of the Opera._ I **do, **however, own Rayla and Miazma Djian. And Erik, Christine, Raoul and Carlotta's toddler versions, but their adult versions belong to Gaston Leroux/Andrew Lloyd Webber.

Enjoy the story!

C.F. & Co.

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"RAYLA!"

A college-age girl stood in front of Ballad Middle School, looking impatient. Her glasses were slightly askew, and she wore a navy blue hoodie with Batman pajama bottoms. One foot had on a high-top sneaker; the other was clad in a bunny slipper. There was a pencil behind one of her ears, electrical wires around her neck, and a half-dissected computer keyboard under her arm.

"RAY, GET OUT HERE!"

The young woman scowled. Her younger sister's chorus practice had ended fourty-five minutes ago, she had already gone to the library and checked the ladies' room, so what could be keeping her? It was six o'clock on a school night, for God's sake. And to boot, it was raining with a vengeance. She cursed under her breath as she pulled the hood of her sweatshirt over her chestnut, seafoam-streaked mane, already turned black and forest green by the downpour.

_I'm gonna kill that kid, _she thought fervently as she uttered one last, "RAYLA CHRISTIANNA DJIAN!"

Suddenly from inside the school came the sound of a voice, slightly off key, like a ribbon of light weaving its way through a dark tunnel.

**_"Nightime quickens, sharpens each sensation. Darkness stirs and wakes imagination. Silently the senses...abandon their defenses..." _**The voice stopped short as its source--a tallish, brown haired girl in a black T-Shirt and a denim skirt--stood in the doorway of the school.

"Rain!" Rayla yelped. "Again! Ugh...coming, Azzie..." The seventh-grader paused to put on a red jacket and grab her backpack, then sprinted down the cement steps to where her older sister waited.

"Where were you? This is the third week running that I've had to come pick you up from school, Ray. Do you have any idea what time it is?" Miazma "Azzie" Djian demanded.

"Er...can I get back to you on that?" replied Rayla sheepishly, one violet-streaked braid hanging in her face.

"Let me see the book," Azzie huffed.

Reluctantly, her sister handed over a weatherbeaten copy of _Phantom of the Opera_, taken from the school library.

"Haven't you read _Phantom_ seventeen times already?" she asked, waving the paperback in front of Ray's face.

"Sixteen and a half, actually, but what's it to you?"

"Your obsession is getting unhealthy. You eat, sleep, and breathe _Phantom_--don't think I don't hear you up in your room at night," Azzie added, giving Rayla a warning look.

"_Madmoiselle_, I highly doubt that sitting in your room until three in the morning, sipping coffee and dissecting portable CD players, as YOU do, is any _healthier _than my fetish," Ray snapped.

Azzie gave her a death glare. "That's none of your buisness!"

The sisters continued to argue as they walked down Mora Avenue in the rain, cars speeding by and sending up miniature tidal waves from the gutters. A distant rumble of thunder could be heard as the solid sheets of water came crashing down. Azzie and Rayla were getting absolutely drenched, and there was nothing they could do about it.

After much shouting and squabbling, they finally arrived at 235 Densmore Place, an antique monstrosity of a house, with baby blue chipped paint, a white awning, and old lawn chairs on the front porch. Rayla stormed up the front steps, followed by her older sister. Azzie stalked into the kitchen while Rayla climbed the winding staircase, further and further up, until she reached her bedroom. From the kitchen, Azzie could hear a resounding **SLAM!**

The chestnut-haired girl threw herself onto her bed--the old matress, from their grandmother's house, that still reeked of tea and tobacco smoke, and a falling-apart wooden frame, covered by floral sheets and a black duvet--and screamed into a pillow. Why did Azzie have to be so...so..._overprotective!_ It drove her insane...she flopped onto her back, staring at the various _Phantom_ pictures covering the right wall.

"I blame you," she whispered with a wry smile at the picture of the Phantom. Sighing, she rolled off of the bed and reached underneath for her pencils and paper. Time for the bane of her existence...the dreaded thing known only to mortals as homework.

Azzie grimaced at the contents of the refrigerator. Half a head of lettuce, a practically empty jar of mayonnaise, something green and bloblike that looked like it had once been meat, and a Kid Food Happy Peppy Healthamafied Educational TV Dinner. (a/n: Ew...soy cubes...-shudders-) The only decent thing in the fridge was a bag of Triple-Dip Chocolate Swoon Doughnut Holes, one of the most chocolatey, sugar- and caffiene-filled, calorific snack foods in the history of musekind. She reached for the bag and put it it on the cluttered kitchen table.

As her forest green eyes scanned the table, they alit on something purple and silver, something that looked oddly like an eggbeater. "Yes," she whispered, fingering the object. She'd worked on it for two years in college, before the accident happened and she became Rayla's guardian. It was her pet project, an experiment she'd tried, a chance she'd taken. If it had worked, she could have brought the dead to life, brought the great ones to earth again. She could have asked the genii of history about all the things she'd always wondered...brought Mom and Dad back so that she and Rayla could have a family, _be_ a family again. And all she'd need was a picture or two, to turn back the hands of the clock and make her life complete...but the Miazma Djian Idea Animation Generator, or M-DIAG, was just a crazy dream, poured into spare parts from a child's toy. Azzie placed it back on the table next to Rayla's favorite DVD, blinking back tears as she went to the stairway to call Rayla down for supper.

Her sister greeted her with a hardly audible,"What are we having?"

"Doughnut holes," replied Azzie nonchalantly. Rayla's face lit up as she sprinted down the curved staircase, and Azzie couldn't help but beam back.

The two sisters sat down at the table, each reaching into the paper bag for fistfuls of the rich, chocolatey treat. Ray's jaws were working at the speed of light--she was sugar-dependent, after all. Azzie managed to snatch a few when Ray's hands weren't in the bag. They ate their dinner in relative silence, broken only by Rayla's humming and the pounding of the rain outside. They both plunged hands into the bag at the same instant, both knowing the terrible fact as soon as they locked eyes; there was only one doughnut hole left.

"You can have it," Rayla muttered, a michevious smile spreading across her face, "if you can catch it!" Instantly she snatched the bag, empty save one, and sped off at the speed of sugar, down the hall.

Azzie's eyes grew wide with shock. It took her a second to react. She spluttered for a moment, but recovered quickly, and was soon on Rayla's tail, chasing her down the hall.

Ray was laughing by now, as she made a hairpin turn at the bathroom door, circling back toward the kitchen. Azzie spun around as she followed her to the kitchen, unable to keep the huge grin off of her face. It was probably the sugar, but something had just brought their mood right up.

She slid a little on the tiled floor in her cotton socks, but Ray regained her balance quickly snd sprinted into the kitchen, clambering toward the table, Azzie hot on her trail.

Rayla climbed up onto a chair, and lept onto the table...losing her balance, and falling directly on top of the M-DIAG.

All of a sudden, a blast of mauve light engulfed the DVD, giving the entire room an unnatural glow. The colour off the cover of _Phantom of the Opera_(2004 version) disinegrated until the disque itself disappeared in some unknown wormhole in the space-time continumum.

When the light finally dimmed, four unique little children, each about three years old, sat in the living room. Four unique little faces--one masked, one innocent, one impish, and one oddly feminine(although, it was clearly a boy's face) stared in bafflement. Four unique little pairs of eyes scanned the room, unknown to them, then squeezed

shut as their four unique little faces screwed up and they began bawling at the top of their four unique little pairs of lungs.

Fearful of what she'd find, Rayla hopped down from the table and opened the door a crack.

"Azzie," she whimpered, "I think we have a problem..."


	2. The First Chapter O'DOOM

le gasp I have reviewers! Erik be blessed! Thank you:

Araoina Dubois

duckster2

WanderingTeen

xxooEriklovesChristinexxoo

Wow, people actually review this excrement?

_It may be excrement, but it's Phantom-related excrement! Revel in it!_

How about no?

_Killjoy. (sticks toungue out)_

And now...

**

* * *

**

**Chapter One: Introductions, Garage Sales, and a Revolution with No Apparent Purpose**

"W--what's there, Ray?" asked Azzie tentatively, peering over her sister's shoulder. What she saw nearly made her faint.

"The M-DIAG!"

"The--?"

"Miazma Djian Idea Animation Generator. You point it at a person in a picture and it extracts the idea, putting it into human form. You could bring people back from the past with this--very, very advanced technology. I was working on it in college, before Mom and Dad...and I tried demonstrating it, but nobody would take me seriously, and then I got the news about the accident--"

"Wait a second," Rayla said quietly. "If my DVD was in the path of this thing you made," she continued, her face getting brighter, "then the _Phantom_ characters...are in our living room! Oh my gosh, this is _so--_"

"But obviously," Azzie interrupted, "something is wrong with the device...they're all little kids, Ray."

Rayla's grin disappeared. "So...I guess we have to take care of them, huh?"

The four bawling little children on the rug seemed interested in their arrival. Tears turned to sniffles as the siblings cautiously stepped into the room, for fear of setting them off again.

"Looks like it," Azzie muttered, kneeling down next to a little blond-haired boy, whose nose was running. "Don't cry," she whispered, digging a tissue out of her pocket and putting it it front of his nose. "Blow."

The tot blew a raspberry.

A loud squeal from Rayla made both Azzie and the little boy turn around sharply. Ray was beaming, and in her grasp was an ebony-haired, masked three year old, squirming uncomfortably.

"You are the cutest thing ever!" screeched Rayla, holding the mini-Phantom even tighter.

"Aggh! I highly object to being hugged like this! Put me down, _now_, or a disaster beyond your imagination will occur! YOU'RE SCARING ME..." he screeched, kicking and wailing.

Azzie rolled her eyes. "Rayla, put him down."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes, you have to!" said both Azzie and the little Erik in unison.

Rayla grumbled about it, but soon Erik was safe on the floor.

A little brunette fairy of a girl in white lace stumbled over to Rayla. "Where are we, _madame_?" she asked timidly.

"This is my house, in the year 2005. I'm Rayla, and my sister over there is Azzie. What's your name?" said Ray kindly.

The fairy-like child's face split into a wide smile. "My name is Christine Daae and I'm this many and I like cake very much and my Papa's in heaven now but I don't know how he got there because Maman always said he was terrible at reading maps--"

"Okay, okay," Rayla said quickly, not wanting Christine to get carried away.

"Vere are ze trumpets?" a sharp-sounding voice said from behind the couch.

"Trumpets?" Azzie asked in utter confusion.

"Vere were zupozed to be trumpets...and an announcer...and a pony, a keeten, a puppeh--" the accented voice--which belonged to a ginger-haired little imp wearing a riduculously frilly pink dress--continued as she counted off each gift she was expecting on her little fingers.

"Whoa, whoa, hold the phone, little dipper," Azzie cut in. "We aren't here to _give_ you anything. The only _reason_ you're here at all is because of some weird accident my baby sis cau--AAGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" She let out a wail of pain. Once little Carlotta realized that she _wasn't _at the Djian house to be spoiled beyond her wildest dreams, she had immediately plunged her sharp little teeth into Azzie's ankle.

"STOP IT, YOU LITTLE VAMPIRE!" she hollered, thrashing about on the floor.

"AZZIE!" Rayla dashed over to her sister's side to try and pull the future Prima Donna's teeth out of her sister's ankle. Christine, Erik, and Raoul(whose nose was still running) came up behind her to help. After a lot of whimpering and petroleum jelly, Azzie was finally out of her pain...at least, her physical pain. She carefully backed away as she made small sad noises like a wounded puppy.

"Keep them busy. I have to get something." whispered Rayla.

"Are you sure that it isn't 'I bet I can escape if Azzie keeps them busy?'"

"Positive...Just give me a bit of money, so I can better equip us."

Azzie sighed and dug a brown leather wallet out of her pocket.

"Thanks. Be back soon!" Rayla sprinted over to the front hall and down the street. The rain had stopped, and there was someone sitting outside across the street, with a cardboard sign that said 'Garage Sale'...

"Okay...now what would everyone like to do?"

Azzie stood in front of the group of toddlers with a bandaged ankle and a desperate, please-oh-please-don't-kill-me smile. Her hands were clasped together, as she had seen her preschool teacher do twenty years ago.

"Can I punjab him?" asked Erik, pointing at Raoul.

"No," Azzie muttered.

"Do you 'ave an Amahrican Express cahrd?" Carlotta snapped, pulling at the fibres in the rug.

"No, and if we did, I wouldn't trust you with it."

"CAN I USE THE WASHROOM?" Raoul burst out urgently.

Azzie sighed. "Third door on the left."

The little Vicomte darted from the room, and the slamming of a door could be heard.

"Vait a minute..." muttered Carlotta as a scowl furrowed her little brow. ""Ow come she zaid yeas to 'im..."

"...and not to us?" Erik finished. A diabolical grin spread across his face. "I say we revolt!"

"ZE REVOHLOOZION!"

"ALL FOR...all for...hmm..."

"You DO know vat ve are rehvolting against...am Ah right?"

Erik sighed. "We're going to have to work on that..."

"Indeed...ooh, Ah know!"

"What?" asked Erik, leaning forward, looking fascinated.

"Weh shall rehvolt against...HER!" Carlotta's face lit up as she thrust one finger at Azzie.

"I have a better idea," said Azzie, still trying to keep up her peppy, cheerful attitude. "Let's play a game!"

"What kind of game?" asked Christine suspiciously, squirming to the front.

"It's called the Be-Quiet-While-Azzie-Tries-To-Fix-The-M-DIAG-game! You all have to stay as quiet as you can, and whoever goes the longest without making any noise wins! Doesn't that sound like _fun_, boys and girls?" _Mrs. Crumblehuume would be proud._

The four little ones exchanged skeptical looks. They seemed to be debating the pros and cons of Azzie's suggestion.

Erik looked up and sighed. "Nah. I like my revolution idea better."

The others murmured their agreement.

"PERPENDICULAR!" cried Christine for absolutely no reason whatsoever.

With that one little mathematical term, all hell broke loose. The curtains came crashing down, Azzie could hear screams from Raoul as Erik chased him with a toddler-size punjab, and she was pretty sure the fridge just toppled over. With fear in her heart, Azzie rushed to the bathroom, where she hoped to hide until the revolution ended.

An earsplitting scream could be heard from the next block...

"RAOUL DE CHAGNY! WHAT IN THE NAME OF DOUGLAS ADAMS HAVE YOU BEEN DOING IN THIS BATHROOM?"

"Absolutely not! I refuse..."

Rayla stood in front of a small card table, laden with bags. Her face was twisted into a scowl as she glared at the girl behind the table, a blonde who looked about 17 or 18. The girl was wearing a leotard under a pair of track pants and a windbreaker. Her flaxen hair was twisted into a bun that made the back of her head look like a rabbit's rear.

"...to pay fifty dollars for all this junk! That's daylight robbery!"

"For your information," snapped the girl in the leotard(a/n: I'm just gonna call her Ballet Girl, ok?) "the jewelery, books, and stuffed animals you are purchasing are of the highest quality vintage..."

"Oh, put a sock in it," Ray growled. "The jewelery is plastic, I've seen a commercial for the bear on TV, and by the look of pages twenty-three, forty-seven, eighty-one, and one hundred fifty-two, somebody _puked_ all over this! I can hardly read it!"

"Are you suggesting," Ballet Girl hissed, "that my merchandise is not of the greatest calibre?"

"I'm not suggesting, I'm _proclaiming_, get it! THIS STUFF IS CRAP, AND I REFUSE TO PAY FIFTY DOLLARS FOR IT. THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE A GARAGE SALE, FOR PHANTOM'S SAKE!"

She gasped. "THEN BRING IT ON, SISTER!" Ballet Girl suddenly drew a sword out of nowhere and held it up menacingly. Rayla was caught off guard, but managed to grab a metrestick from the counter.

Metal crashed against plastic in a storm of clashing on clacking. Ballet Girl's sword drew sparks from the frame of a chair. Ray managed to whack her adversary on the arm with the metrestick, leaving a stinging pain in Ballet Girl's arm.

One off-white ballet slipper stuck out in front of Ray sending her tumbling to the ground. The dainty foot contained in it pinned the preteen to the ground while the pointed blade carved something in the denim covering Rayla's backside. The girl's leering face bent down next to her opponent's as she whispered, "That'll be 49.99, please."

"You win this time," she muttered, pulling out Azzie's wallet and dumping two crumpled twenties and a ten into Ballet Girl's waiting hand.

Rayla got to her feet indigantly, glaring at the smirking blonde as she whispered with oily condescendcion:

"Have a nice day."

Azzie could hardly hear her sister over the chaos inside. She swung the door open to find her sister, covered in wet gravel and bearing several bags. Rayla stared at the twenty-three-year-old with broken glasses, peanut butter in her hair, and toilet paper wound around one leg.

"What happened to you?" they asked in chorus. And then again, in unison; "Never mind...I don't want to know."

"I got some stuff for the toddlers," the younger Djian said as she rested the bags on the now slightly damp couch.

"Vor us?" asked Carlotta from behind the couch. The little diva, darling that she was, had been pulling all of the pink fibres out of the living room carpet and shoving them in the pockets of her dress.

"Yes, presents. For all of you."

"PRESENTS!"

Suddenly Rayla was mobbed by all four of the toddlers squealing excitedly.

Azzie emptied the contents of the bags on the couch while they watched in anticipation. A variety of items fell onto the cushions.

"For Carlotta..." Rayla said as she pulled out a tiara and string of pearls from the pile, which were snatched from her hands almost immediately as Carlotta admired her reflection in a small hand mirror.

"Erik, I thought you'd like these..."

A plush monkey in Persian robes with a cymbal in each hand fell into the future Opera Ghost's waiting palms. Rayla placed a small child's keyboard in front of him and soon what sounded like a funeral march was drifting through the air.

"Christine..."

The little brunette gasped in delight as Rayla opened the box of a beautifully made doll, with chocolate brown eyes and a mass of dark curls. The body was a ragdoll in a neatly made pink gown, but the face was pale china and the eyes were glass.

"And for the fo--I mean Raoul--oh, _shiznit._"

She stared at a sickeningly cute white teddy bear with gigantic blue eyes. A gold tiara was perched on its head, and a glittery pink bow was tied around its neck. Ray shuddered and said as kindly as she could to Raoul, "I'm afraid there's been a bit of a mistake--"

He shook his head, his sandy blond tresses waving from side to side. "No, this is fine!"

She was slightly freaked out by this, but she handed over the bear and watched, with one eyebrow raised, as he hugged it.

Rayla stood up, with her back to the toddlers, and faced her sister. "Well, it looks like everyone's happy n--"

There was a storm of giggles behind her. Azzie bit her lip in an attempt not to laugh.

"What is...?" The twenty-three year old snickered and pointed to Ray's rear. Black underwear with a rose-and-mask pattern could be glimpsed through the letter "M" carved into the seat of her skirt.

Blushing madly, Rayla darted up the stairs to change.

* * *

Please review!

I remain,

Your humble and obiedient authoress--

Don't you mean egotistical and empty-headed?

Shaddup!

C.F. & Co.


	3. Can it be? AN UPDATE?

We bring you this next update!

About time.

Shut up Azzie. Catalina Fioght and Company would like to thank:

duckster2

Kerri Driscol

WanderingTeen

kichi phantom rock ness

Girl in No Man's Land

and xxooEriklovesChristinexxoo

for being humble and obiedient--

and far too easily impressed with her pathetic story--

(glares) Reviewers.

_I hate to say this, but I sort of agree with Azzie._

You're just saying that because I revealed that you wear Phantom undergarments in the last chapter, Ray!

_Tell the world, why don't you?_

Well, now they all know the extent of your obsession.

Stuff it, both of you.

Now!...enjoy!

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Chapter Two: Peanut Butter and E-Bay and Love Triangles, Oh My!**

Amidst the dirty laundry, wires in various colours strewn across the floor, empty coffee mugs, scribbled-on bits of paper, and open textbooks that made up the ecosystem of Azzie's room, a ginger-haired toddler sat at an old PC, having to sit on her knees perched on two phone books to reach the keyboard. The concept of modern technology had come quite easily to the little diva, and within minutes she was wiling away her time on the Internet, clicking on whatever looked interesting. Erik's revolution got boring quickly. Carlotta yawned, placing one hand over her mouth.

This "computer" thing was unexplored territory, yearning to be explored. And so...Carlotta had officially taken over Azzie's computer. Her eyes lit up as she clicked a link for E-Bay. _You can BUY things!_ This would prove to be fun...

* * *

Raoul stared into the plastic jar, enthralled by the golden contents. Scraping more of the rich nutty paste out with his hands, her immediately plunged the left into his mouth. Such an ecstacy of taste! Such a soliliquy of smell! Such a ballad of feel upon his fingers! He hugged the jar of peanut butter to his chest and sighed contentedly. This, he decided, was the true meaning of paradise. This ambrosia he had discovered by standing on tiptoe at the kitchen counter was one of the most blessed substances in his world now. Even though he had only found it two minutes ago.

After tossing the now-ruined denim skirt in her trash can and pulling on what she liked to call her 'Point of No Return' jeans(black jeans with flames coming up to the knees), Rayla trotted downstairs in search of comfort. _All I need is a nice PB and J. The ultimate in comfort food. And then I'll help Azzie with the toddlers...they're _Phantom_ characters, so they can't be all bad, right?_

"Raoul," she crooned in the sweetest tone she could muster at the moment, "I'm afraid you're going to have to move, Rayla has to get to the cou--WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS HOLY ARE YOU DOING TO MY PEANUT BUTTER, YOU BLASTED LITTLE--!"

His eyes widened in surprise and started to fill with astonished tears. Rayla spluttered with anger at his disrespect for the almighty peanut buttery goodness. To each mortal was a jar of this enchanted sandwich topping gifted, and this was the last jar in the house, especially meant for Rayla. Her body shook with the undistilled rage. Who had taught this dratted mini-fop peanut butter ettiquette? She closed her eyes and tried deep breathing. The white bubble. Everything that Dad had said about anger management techniques.

Nothing worked. It might have had something to do with the fact that Raoul was now screeching at the top of his ever-loving lungs again.

"SHE'S BEING MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!"

The boy was running out of the kitchen in search of sympathy in the form of Azzie. Rayla simply slumped down on the floor, mourning the loss of her beloved peanut butter.

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Azzie was intent on rewiring the M-DIAG's circuitry with as few interruptions as possible. Unfortunately, it looked as if this was not to be the case, as Christine would break out in tears at the smallest things, Erik was currently in a state of extreme composer's block, and she had to make constant trips for tissues, blank paper, and consolation that Mr. Keyboard didn't need a Band-Aid and Erik shouldn't be made to sit in the corner and keep his Punjab Lasso to himself.

"Oi," she muttered, in a state of fervent frustration. She tossed down the tiny screwdriver and got to her feet once again, arranging her features in an approximation of a smile. She took two steps before realizing that her work had been cut out for her; Erik had taken the sobbing little ingenue in his arms and was quietly humming "Music of the Night" in her ear.

The frustrated young woman smiled despite herself. It was actually pretty cute.

Raoul burst into the room and buried his tearstreaked face in Azzie's leg, nearly knocking her over, and ruining an adorable E/C moment in the process.(a/n: Hey, Toddler Raoul is pretty true to his adult counterpart!)

"What the peacock?" Azzie yelped. Raoul continued to cry into Azzie's leg, muttering untintelligible things about peanut butter and meanies.

Christine wriggled out of Erik's arms and skipped off to comfort the little Vicomte, leaving the young Phantom to glare murderously.

"_**No more talk of darkness,"** _the little girl crooned. **_"Forget these wide-eyed fears...You're safe, no one will harm you...My words will warm and calm you..."_**

_**"Let me be your freedom...let daylight dry your tears...I'm here, with you, beside you...to guard you and to guide you..."**_

He began tenatively to sing. **_"Say you'll love me every waking moment, turn my head with talk of summertime...say you'll need me with you now and always, promise me that all you say is true. That's all I ask of you."_**

Erik was well and truly ticked off by now. He picked up his toddler-size punjab, fuming silently, and made his way over to them.

**_"Let me be your shelter," _**she continued as Erik advanced upon the pair. **_"Let me be your light...you're safe, no one will find you. Your fears are far--"_** Christine noticed the malevolent toddler looming behind Raoul. "Behind you!"

**_"All I want is freedom,"_** he confessed, thinking the brunette's outburst was part of the song. **_"A world with no more night...and you, always beside me...to hold me and to--"_** At this point, Erik couldn't take anymore of the torture and tapped Raoul on the shoulder. He turned around and Erik lunged.

"HIDE ME!" Raoul wailed, diving behind Christine as Erik crawled over trying to loop the rope around his neck.

"Stop it, stop it, you're hurting me--"

"Leave him alone, can't you see he's in pain?"

"The girl-stealing little fop is getting what he deserves, my dear--"

Azzie dropped her gadget and dashed over to the tussle on the rug.

"HE'S MESSING UP MY HAIR!"

"Oh, I'll do more than that. Excuse me, Christine--"

"Erik, get off of Raoul--no biting--I SAID NO BITING, FOR GODSAKES! Oh, God, Rayla, where are you?"

At last the three tots turned a joint somersault, with Azzie's hands pinched between them. Raoul started crying because he had just hit his head on the floor, Christine started crying because being so close with no room to see or breathe gave her claustrophobia, Erik started crying because Christine was crying and he never got a chance to cause Raoul bodily harm, and upstairs, Carlotta heard their sobs, figured, "what the heck?" and started crying too.

Azzie felt like crying herself as she buried her face in her hands, wrenching them out of the toddlers' grasp. _Why me? Why always me?_

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Hope you liked!

Reviewers get fictional cookies...

Press that little purple button!

May the Phantomness be with you.

Your humble and obiedient authoress,

C.F. & Co.


	4. Aren't dictionaries amazing?

HB returns once more--

_--to the dungeon of our black despair, down we plunge through the prison of her mind...down that path, into a phic like rancid CHEEESE..._

NO DOWN ONCE MORE! YOU KNOW HOW I FEEL ABOUT IT!

_You, madmoiselle, have no taste._

Shut up, I have to thank my reviewers!

WanderingTeen

Just Plain Insane

psychonerd5

Pawfoot

xxooEriklovesChristinexxoo

and my new phriend, Sarinati!

Now...I think this chapter is kinda short, and I'm sorry...but I hope you'll like it anyway...and review...and tell other people to review too...

Fictional cookies are on the fictional table, everyone. Help yourselves.

**

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**

**Chapter Three: Fun With a Dictionary**

After all the crying toddlers had been rounded up, Rayla, Azzie, and the little terrors were seated on the rug in a circle. They sat in silence for awhile until Raoul finally spoke up:

"Christine?"

"Yes?" she replied from her seat in Azzie's lap.

"What was that big word you used that one time?"

"What big word?"

"The one that started with...um...P I think..."

"Perpendicular?" Erik quizzed.

"Yeah, that's the one."

"What about it?"

"What does it mean?"

Rayla hopped to her feet. "I'll get a dictionary."

"Vhat's a deectionary?" Carlotta wondered aloud.

"A dictionary," Azzie explained, putting back on her preschool-trained grin, "is a book where you look up the meanings and spellings of words you don't know."

"Like "dictionary"?" asked Christine.

"Wouldn't looking up "dictionary" in the dictionary be redundant?" Erik asked, tilting his head to one side.

"What does "redundant" mean?" Raoul poked Erik questioningly.

"That's what we have the dictionary for," Azzie broke in.

The chestnut-haired phangirl hopped up with a large, worn softcover dictionary. "Found it."

Rayla sat back down and opened the book. "Now I'll show you how to use a dictionary."

Erik took the heavy book from her grasp. "Simple. There are twenty-six sections, for words from A to Z. Whatever letter your word starts with is the section it's in. In this case, it would be _P." _He gave Christine a fond smile.

"The words are placed in alphabetical order. Words that start with p-e--"

"Horrible gym class memories--" Rayla whimpered.

"...would come after p-a. Now, you just follow that pattern. P-E-R...P-E-R-P...here it is!"

He closed his eyes and recited, without use of the book in front of him: "_Intersecting at or forming right angles. Being at right angles to the horizontal; vertical."_

"Wow," said Christine reverentially. "You can read with your eyes shut."

Erik shook his head. "I just memorized the definition."

"But vhat does redundant mean?" Carlotta questioned.

"_Exceeding what is necessary or natural; superfluous." _

"Like when Superman has the flu?" Raoul asked. Erik hit himself in the forehead with his open palm and said:

"Not. At. All."

"Vhat's a Zoopermon?"

"What's the flu?"

"Why are we asking all these questions?"

"How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck would chuck wood?"

"Fourty-two kilograms..."

"Wow."

**_"Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes, how do you measure a year in y--"_** Rayla was promptly twacked across the head by Azzie.

"What did I say about _Rent_?"

"...that you should always pay it?"

"THE MUSICAL."

"No Seasons of Love in public places...BUT OUR HOUSE ISN'T--"

"We are in front of toddlers from the longest runnning musical in Broadway history."

"But what does that have to do with _Rent_?"

"MUSICAL THEATRE ANNOYS ME."

Meanwhile, the toddlers had crawled away. The sisters looked up from their argument to see four empty spots on the rug.

"Oh, lord..." muttered Azzie.

The harsh tones of the smoke alarm blared throughout the house, and a plume of noxious charcoal smoke trailed into the living room.

"SWEET ROLLICKING RED DEATH!" Rayla yelped, heading for the washroom. A shrill scream could be heard.

"It's so horrible..."

"I should have warned you. I'm sorry. But that's not the point," said Azzie coming up behind her. She pulled out the empty garbage can and filled it in the sink, which was filled with mushy pink decorative soap.

They lugged it to the kitchen, and tossed the contents at the flaming kitchen oven, dousing the fire and leaving behind a charred carapace of an oven, and a guilty-looking ghost and ingenue.

"He said he knew how to cook..." she whispered.

* * *

You just LOVE torturing us, don't you?

(sigh) It's part of the fun of being a goddess-figure.

_(whimper) Can we have fictional cookies too?_

One each...

_WE JUST HAD OUR STOVE BURNT!_

Okay, just leave some for the reviewers...

Your humble and obiedient authoress--

C.F. & Co.


	5. She can get awfully testy

And yet another update! Let me tell you, there is no better feeling than opening your inbox to find six reviews.

_The reviewers ate all the fictional cookies..._

And our stove still hasn't been fixed.

Blah, blah, blah, your needs...

Catalina Fioght and Company would like to thank:

Sarinati

Just Plain Insane

psychonerd5

Araiona Dubois

WanderingTeen

xxooEriklovesChristinexxoo

Erik for President

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand duckster2.

Fictional cookies for all of you, guys! (smiles)

Now...Rayla? Azzie?

This Phanphiction is brought to you by...

_MEMORY! Catty's first oneshot! It has angst, ECness, a song from Cats, and...only one review so far. (whimper)_

So here's hoping you review it. /shamelessplug

I know, I know, you came here for the HB...so...just look below!

**

* * *

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**Chapter Four: Azzie Explores Her Inner War General**

"Is she going to be all right?"

"Why did she just collapse like that?"

"Vhat 'appened in ze keetchen?"

"...It's kind of a long story."

"Wait, guys, I think she's waking up..."

Five faces slowly came into view as Miazma Djian slowly regained consciousness. One of them was the same face she had known since she was eleven years old, the face of her sister; bright, enquiring eyes, and purple-streaked chestnut hair with two small braids in the front. The four others were the three-year-old versions of the faces that Rayla and her mother had memorized, idolized, loved and hated. The names that even the Phantom-hater Azzie could recite by heart. Erik, Christine, Raoul, Carlotta. Azzie closed her eyes again and groaned.

"Azzie?" Rayla's worried face stared into the bleary one of her sister.

Now more awake, she could feel the large moist patch on her forehead. The evergreen-coloured eyes slowly rolled upward, until at last the twenty-something spoke:

"Why is there a bag of fish sticks on my head?"

"She's awake!" Christine cheered.

Azzie realized that she was lying on the couch, glasses off, hair down instead of held up by its customary jumbo butterfly clip. Her head was resting on Rayla's "Obey the Mask" pillow, and her torso was covered by what looked like Erik's cape. And, as was mentioned earlier, a bag of thawed-out frozen fish sticks rested on her forehead.

"What exactly happened here?"

"Wee-e-ll..." began Ray.

"That's never a good sign," her sister remarked.

"After the little incident with the exploding stove," and here she eyed Erik and Christine meaningfully, "after the fire was extinguished you just sorta...passed out. We made you as comfortable as we could...I contributed my pillow, Erik gave his cape--"

"And the fish sticks?" Azzie persisted.

"You hit your head pretty hard, and there were no ice packs, so I had to improvise."

"It was my idea!" said Raoul proudly.

"Mah purchases came een," Carlotta announced.

"Purchases?" Azzie asked with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Carlotta gestured to a large pile of cardboard boxes, all addressed to their address, all purchased over the Internet. Her elder caretaker whimpered.

"What did you buy...?"

Carlotta counted off on her fingers. "Zeex fur coats, eight zets of diamond earrings, zeven 'ome entertainment seestems, zomezing called ze Brooklyn Breedge...oh, and a doggeh."

Azzie shot straight up, and her head immediately began throbbing. "Ow, ow, ow..." She put the fish sticks back on her head and lay down again.

"Oh, and you owe meh five vousand dollairs."

She began choking violently, looking as if she wanted to choke _Carlotta_ violently.

When she had finished, Azzie sighed and said, "I'm sorry, but all this stuff has to go back."

"Why?" asked the little diva.

"Because," she hissed, "five thousand dollars is a heckuva lot of money I just can't pay. It ALL has to go back."

"Even ze doggeh?"

"Even the doggeh."

Carlotta flashed an incredibly rude hand gesture that a child her age really shouldn't know, but agreed nonetheless.

"Now," she continued, fully awake now. "I want basics. Now. Exactly how long was I out cold?"

"Three days..." Rayla muttered.

"_Days_?"

Her sister nodded meekly.

"But what about school? Did the truant officers come again?"

"Az, you picked me up Friday. It was a four-day weekend, remember? We're off Monday and Tuesday, which is today."

"Well, that was oddly convienient."

"I know, eh?"

"Were there any major disasters during that time?"

"No, not really. They basically just colored and ate toast and ice cream. Well, there was that _small_ issue of the butter in the VCR..."

"**WHAT!"**

"Calm down, sis. I'm worried that big vein on your forehead will explode."

"Have they been sleeping?"

"They usually just pass out in front of the TV watching _Sesame Street_ reruns."

"Everyone's...potty-trained, right?"

"Well, Raoul came pretty close to...giving the carpet some unwanted fragrance, but he made it."

"So the bathroom's clean?" Azzie asked hopefully.

"Not exactly."

"And who's that guy sitting in the beanbag chair with an apple?"

"The delivery guy. He's still waiting for you to sign for the stuff."

"That's all I need to know," Miazma replied coolly. She lifted herself off the couch and strode up to the delivery guy.

"You. Yes, you. With the face. I don't want any of this crap. Take it away."

"But--but--but.." the delivery boy sputtered.

"But--but--" Azzie mocked in a high-pitched tone. "I don't wanna hear it. Take it with you when you take the stuff."

"I haven't finished today's Sudoku yet!" he whined.

"Tough toenails, Quincy!" Azzie snapped.

"MY NAME IS ISAAC!" he screeched, tears beginning to form in his eyes.

"_WHATEVER, GEORGE_!"she screamed back, on the verge of hysteria. She stared down at the younger ones at her feet. Christine promptly hid behind Rayla.

"Raoul, Carlotta, I want you to go get my glasses and my hairclip, wherever they are, and bring them to me. My hair is falling in my face and I can't see a bloody thing." The pint-sized Viscount and Prima Donna scurried off.

"Erik, Christine, Rayla, I want you to gather up all the bowls and plates and stuff and load the dishwasher."

"But what's a dish--" Christine asked as she was ushered out of the room.

"Shhh," Ray hissed. "When she gets into war general mode, it's better just to do what she says."

Azzie's head snapped over to Isaac the delivery guy.

"And as for you--_GIVE ME THE DAMNED NEWSPAPER!" _She ripped it from his grasp and replaced it with three twenty-dollar bills. "Remove the E-Bay junk from my sight, take the money, and don't come back unless you have fourteen cans of alphabet pasta in tomato sauce, three loaves of bread, two bags of milk, a case of bottled water, a box of fish sticks, and one jar of Folgers Classic Roast, pre-ground...actually, I don't care about the rest. Get me my Folgers Classic Roast or I'll bite your head off...have I made myself clear?"

Isaac let out a whimper.

"I _said_..._HAVE I MADE MYSELF CLEAR!_" She scowled at Isaac.

"Yes, ma'am!" he squeaked,

"Well?" There was a pause.

"Go! GO!"

He began rushing around with the packages. Azzie sighed in satisfaction and slumped down with the newspaper. Pulling out the classifieds section with one hand and dialing Ballad Middle School's number with the other, she started filling out the "help wanted" form, as she croaked into the phone in her best impersonation of a sick person:

"Hello, this is Miazma Djian, I'm calling for my sister Rayla..."

* * *

_Wow. You really freaked out the delivery guy._

It's a gift.

_That or the fact that you haven't had coffee for three days..._

...that might be it.

Remember the two R's!

I remain, readers,

Your humble and obiedient authoress--

C.F. & Co.


	6. MorningBound Train

At long last, I update!

It's not like HB is air. They don't need phanfiction to survive...

_Beg to differ!_

...at least, not all of them.

In other news, I got wicked sunburn today. (cringe) And I am trapped in a camp I hate, and my mother made me attend. But luckily, I won't have to go next year...

Good thing too. No offense to anyone who goes to camp with the Authoress(although they probably don't read phanfiction), but these people are IMBECILES. They didn't know what the term "relieving yourself" meant...

And they treat me like an alien because I like to read! Asshats.

_Um, I hate to stop the angstfest, but I believe your reviewers need to be thanked..._

Wow, the growling and foaming at the mouth TOTALLY didn't make it obvious.

Shut UP! Now, Catalina Fioght and Company would like to thank:

WanderingTeen

Octopus Knight

Phantomfr33k24601

The Magic Pickle Fairy

psychonerd5

Lisha Lane (The delivery guy is actually a below-averagely-brave person...it's the coffee-deprived Azzie. She could fend off a hungry tiger. No, a PACK of hungry tigers.)

Captain Samantha Lovegood

Oh, and the nameless man in this chapter does not belong to me...the young girl he takes care of does. A stuffed armadillo to anyone who recognizes him! (Clue: The book he belongs to is on my favorites list in my profile)

**

* * *

**

**Chapter Five: Morning-Bound Train**

It was three in the morning, and all was still, which was fairly rare in this case. The lights were all turned off, and through the ajar window, curtains flung back, the moon tinted the room blue. The floor was covered in blankets and crumbs, cards and faux pearls, ripped paper and stained pillows. In the midst of the chaos, a small radio played a staticky rendition of "I Write Sins, Not Tragedies". (a/n: _I joined in, with a haven't you people ever heard of, closing the goddamn door?_) In the loveseat, under an intricately patterned duvet, Carlotta slept, with the tiara entwined in her gingery hair. Sometime between the bath(they had finally got the bathroom cleaned, thank Gawd) and the pre-bedtime "quiet play" (which wasn't all that quiet, come to think of it), her hair had gotten impossibly tangled. In her little hand, she clasped her spoon like a sceptre, a little princess in her throne in the living room. Little Czarina, little dictator. Even asleep, she wore a smug smirk on her three-year-old's face.

At her feet, Rayla lay on a group of blankets, covered by a cotton sheet and a drape, in black shorts and a lavender T-shirt that said "Reality is for people who lack imagination" in darker purple letters. She clutched her Stage!Erik plushie(complete with little black fedora) close to her as she mumbled something about the Angel of Music and recyclables. Rolling onto her stomach, she snored slightly, and then smiled. She was obviously enjoying her dream.

Next to her, a small ghost was scowling at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Sighing agitatedly, he squeezed his eyes shut and tried again. After three seconds, Erik opened his eyes and huffed. _Curse you, juvenile insomnia..._

But what to do instead of sleep? He had already glared at the sleeping fop nineteen times, stared at the slumbering Christine intently for six whole ten-minute periods, counted the little bumps in the popcorn ceiling(five thousand, three hundred fourty-two), contemplated the meaningless void of existence, and used the little Phantom's room more than he needed to... Erik sat up. There was only one thing to do.

Tenatively he slipped out of the sheets, oh-so-carefully manuevering around the others deep in slumber. He approached the chestnut-haired inventress as one would approach a sleeping lion--actually, a lion would have been less dangerous. Squatting beside her quietly snoring form, he tapped her on the shoulder and whispered fervently:

"Azzie...Azzie...Azzie..."

"Mmmpph," she replied.

"Azzie, wake up..."

"Five more minutes, Mom..."

"_AZZIE!"_ he hissed, jabbing her in the shoulder with a ballpoint pen he had discovered on the floor.

A head slowly turned in Erik's direction, the face livid. Eyes sprung open to reveal murderous forest-green orbs. The masked toddler grew increasingly uneasy as a single word was hissed between gritted teeth:

"_What?"_

_Okay, innocent act. _He gave her his best puppy dog eyes and attempted to look as pitiful as possible.

"I can't sleep," he whimpered.

Azzie gave him a venomous glare. "Then I _suggest_," she growled, "that you do not interrupt those who _can_." She buried her face in the pillow and a completely theatrical snore could be heard.

There was silence for a moment.

Miazma looked up. "You aren't going to go away, are you?"

Erik shook his head.

She sighed resignedly.

"Fine. I'll stay up with you."

Azzie snagged the radio from the midst of the chaos, which had promised to play Jimmy Rankin's "Morning-Bound Train" after a not-so-quick word from their sponsors. He slipped his little hand into hers and they walked into the kitchen together.

After dragging in a phone book, which, rather curiously, had what looked like a cross between a mongoose and two housewifes with beehives fighting over a can of paint depicted on it in white-out, Erik was seated on top of the phone book on top of the chair. Azzie was at the counter, pouring heated milk into an old Barney sippy-cup. Taking a bottle of water out of the fridge for herself, she then plunked the milk in front of Erik.

"Drink," she barked. "It'll make you sleepy."

"But I don't _like _milk..." the small Phantom whined.

Azzie's eyes narrowed. _"Drink."_

Erik gulped, and took the cup of warm milk.

The reluctant babysitter pulled up a chair beside him, and unscrewed her bottle of water. The radio station's commercial break finally ended, and an acoustic guitar began to play softly. The soothing, dusky combination of notes turned into a melody reminescent of early-morning rain. The sky is no longer black, but lightening to blue with the coming of the sun. The grey clouds obscure the moon, and all is still and peaceful, silently, ecstatically enchanted. A weary smile appeared on Miazma's face; this was one of her favorite songs. Taking a gulp of water, she sang along with Jimmy Rankin, in his space in the old radio:

**"_Over the walls I hear laughter_**

**_Under the light of the devil's moon,"_** she warbled. Taking another sip of water, she continued.

_**"Down the halls somebody's creeping **_

_**Singing an old familiar tune..."**_

Erik sipped his milk and observed his caretaker with an approving eye. For somebody who had just woke up ten minutes ago, lived on coffee, and was fiercely bound to reality, Azzie's voice wasn't half bad.

_**"Still I wait, without a sound**_

_**On this train that's morning-bound**_

_**Whoa-oh-ohhhh...**_

_**I can't sleep tonight,**_

_**I'm climbing the walls to feel the rain."**_

He was moving his head back and forth to the music now, continuing to drink the milk.

_**"I go through dark to see daylight...**_

_**On this morning-bound train..."**_

* * *

Halfway across town, on the lap of an odd-looking man sitting on a bench with a towel draped across his shoulders, a laptop computer played the same song. The person at the laptop was also distractedly singing along, whilst searching a job listings website. His face was bathed in light from the screen, making his already unusual face--pale, with features that were striking but not particularly handsome, highlighted by acrid green eyes and framed by an auburnish halo of semi-long wavy hair that stuck out in all directions--look even more so. His clothes were wrinkled and of nondescript shades, and he obviously had not been exposed to any kind of hygiene product whatsoever in a long period of time, and yet showed no sign of facial hair. His fingers occasionally brushed the touchpad, and his gaze was fixated on the screen.

Sitting on the same bench, a girl who looked about twelve sat, with her knees tucked up to her chest. She stared at nothing, her wide, bright, electric-blue eyes looking a bit too wide, bright, and electric-blue to be real. Hanging down her back was a sable mane, seperated and formed into perfectly curled ringlets. She wore a stained beige jacket over a mustard-colored T-shirt, tucked into a pleated teal skirt. Under it were red-and-white-striped wool tights, and on her feet were hiking boots. Her head was cocked to one side, as if about to ask a question, or get a different perspective. Really though, she was listening to the man, her guardian, sing along with the Media Player:

_**"In the jungle,**_

**_It's the same thing,"_** he sang, his voice a British-accented tenor that sounded like it sang a lot of country-folk songs in the wee hours of the morning on park benches.

_**"Feeling the noise rise up like rage**_

_**I drift around inside a daydream**_

**_Watching the lion face the cage..._**Do you think I'd make a good chicken breeder's apprentice?" he asked the girl off-handedly, without taking his eyes off the screen.

"Uncle, do you even know anything about caring for Earth poetry?" the girl replied, her voice babyish and breathy.

"That's a requirement?" The man sounded genuinely surprised. Turning his attention back to the music, he sang the chorus:

_**"I can't sleep tonight,**_

_**I'm climbing the walls to feel the rain.**_

_**I go through dark to see daylight**_

**_On this morning-bound train..." _**He sighed, frustrated, as it launched into the interlude. "I can't decide, come over here and help me, kid."

The girl obiediently rose to her feet, walked a bit over, then sat down again, almost robotically, then sat primly down next to him. Taking the laptop onto her own lap, he leant against her fragile-looking shoulder like a small child as she sifted through the webpages with the patience of a saint.

"Oooh, silverware polisher looks like it'll get us off the streets..."

"Not in several aeons. You would use the microwave to rig up a distress signal and be dismissed before you laid a hand on the Palmolive."

"How about the want ad for a secretary...no, you missed it. Scroll back up. That one?"

"You'd eat all the hard candy, construct a hat from the foil wrappers, and scare every person out of the building."

"Spoilsport."

"Maybe it's better that I choose," the girl said quickly. "How about paper-cutter?"

"Risk of paper cuts."

She sighed and clicked around. "Commercial fisherman?"

"No way. I'd get hooked."

In the background, a Comical Drumroll with Cymbal Crash was heard.

"The typical burger-flipping, then?"

At this moment, he began shrieking like he'd just been burned. She immediately slid a good six inches away.

"What are you so frightened of?"

"Cholestorol poisoning...or worse...SANITY!"

* * *

Azzie hummed along with the instrumental interlude, her chin cradled in her hands. Erik had sent her milk down on the table, and he smiled a sort-of half-smile.

"Very good."

She gave a nod of thanks and took a swig of water.

"You know," he continued, "I thought you hated music..."

The woman nearly dropped her beverage. She looked shocked as she turned to the toddler, quivering a bit.

"What kind of person would I be," she asked quietly, "if I hated music?"

He gave no reply, but simply stared.

Azzie chuckled. "No, I don't hate music...I don't think anyone does. I just don't have time for it lately, what with taking care of the house, Rayla, keeping up my site--"

"Your what?"

"My webgraphics site, Blue Marker Enterprises. I design website layouts for people and they pay me."

"I have no idea what that means, but go on."

"Yes...I have to take care of Rayla, the house, BME, and now you guys. It's a lot of work, and now that Mom and Dad are gone, I'm...I'm on my own." Miazma dragged an arm across her eyes. "Basically it's just me and my baby sister. We are all we have."

"Wow," Erik sympathized.

Azzie nodded. "It's wow, definetely."

* * *

The man set down the laptop and sighed. "Break time, kid," he said to the girl, stowing his computer away along with with another laptop-resembling thing, stored in a plastic cover which read "Don't Panic" in large, friendly letters.

The girl was staring up at the sky, her eyes filled with the different constellations. She looked on the verge of tears as she whispered:

"Uncle...? Do you ever miss home?"

The man gazed at his shoes, sighed, and swallowed hard.

"All the time," he replied. His green eyes suddenly lit up with an angry fire, and he ran out onto the empty road, raising his arms Galaxy-ward and glaring up at the sky as if the Universe had screwed him greatly in some way--which, in his opinion, it had. His face contorted with rage as he roared out:

"GET ME OFF THIS BLASTED PLANET!"

After the words had left his mouth, the raven-haired girl glimpsed the headlights of a Mack truck barrelling down the street that seemed intent on doing just that. Rushing out onto the road herself, she managed to shove her guardian out of its path just in time. The man looked stunned, but then burst out laughing as she helped him to his feet. He ended up falling down again, and she helped him once more.

"You're good for something after all, kid," he remarked genially as they headed back to the bench. He opened the laptop again, just as the last verse of "Morning-Bound Train" came:

**_"Could it be I'm only restless?"_** he sang along.

_**"The wild inside cannot be tamed..."**_

* * *

**_"Could it be," _**Azzie was warbling, **_"I'm only lovesick?_**

_**This wild inside cannot be named..."**_

_**

* * *

**__**"Still we wait, without a sound..."**__**

* * *

**__**"On this train that's morning-bound..."**__**

* * *

**__**"Whoa-oh-ohhh..."**_

* * *

And in unison, the two people on opposite sides of the city sang out, two complete strangers of two different worlds(in more ways than one) who would soon be brought together in a mysterious (okay, not really) way:

_**"I can't sleep tonight,**_

_**I'm climbing the walls to feel the rain.**_

_**I go through dark to see daylight**_

_**On this morning-bound train..." **_

* * *

The man finally alit upon a single ad:

"Caretaker wanted for four children, all aged three. Must have past experience with children, be responsible and trustworthy. Caretaker will be provided with room and board in exchange for work. Contact Miazma at 905-555-6184 for more information or e-mail nudged the girl with his elbow.

"Uncle, you have none of the attributes listed here, and you know absolutely nothing about any kind of child, let alone Earth children..."

"Hey, I have the Guide.."

"The entry on Earth is two words."

"And I have you.."

"I am an adolescent Betelgeusian..."

"Same difference."

"I don't believe so.."

"Oh, be quiet. We get free lodging and food, so I'm putting a resume together."

"Uncle, I deeply feel you are making a large mistake..."

"QUIET. Now how do you spell "prestigious" again?"

And Jimmy Rankin played on:

_**"On this morning-bound..."**_

* * *

Erik's little head was drooping, and the milk cup was empty. The small form dressed all in black was leaning against Azzie's leg snoring. She stroked the dark head almost fondly, and crooned one last note:

_**"Ooooooh..."**_

* * *

Ah, so the toddlers have a caretaker now...! Butdon't worry, the mayhem isn't over...in fact, it's just begun. Again. Eheheh...

You know the drill, my loving readers who will TOTALLY review! (right?)

Your humble and obiedient servant,

C.F. & Co.


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